


a fool's gambit

by wyvernknighted



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Descriptions of Gore/Injury, Exploring Thoron as a plot device for a self-sacrificial character, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 13:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyvernknighted/pseuds/wyvernknighted
Summary: In the midst of a Risen encounter, Laurent takes a calculated risk to ensure their victory.or; Laurent has a bad habit of prioritizing the odds of victory of his companions over his own health and everyone gets upset at his lack of self-preservation.
Relationships: Gerome/Loran | Laurent
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	a fool's gambit

**Author's Note:**

> content warning for descriptions of gore/injury

> _As with many things, magic is something one must practice with moderation and discipline. In battle, one should solely use spells which they have practiced many times prior. This is because spells range in what they require and how they impact the body. It also carries with it great risk. Though magic is used by humans, it is not made for them. It requires precision and consistent study to use magic without mistake. And the higher a spell’s difficulty, the worse it will harm the caster if it goes awry._
> 
> —A Mage’s Primer to Elemental Magic

Laurent had several spells prepared for this battle. Yet even Arcfire, his most powerful prepared spell, could not cut down the Risen General who was currently mowing through their troops. He knew he needed something a bit more powerful to buy them time for the northern units to head their way. He flipped towards the back of his tome, thumbing his notes clipped between the pages. His current practice spell, Thoron, had been giving him trouble. It was the most advanced spell he had set out to learn so far. His current success rate was about 40%, which was a far cry from the normal 95% success rate he required for combat. But if he did not act soon, they would be overwhelmed. He hesitated for the slimmest moment.

Around him, he knew Brady was several yards away with Severa guarding his side. At his back, Noire and Morgan were picking off opponents as they broke rank. Above them flew Cynthia and Gerome. And further north Lucina and Kjelle held the brunt of the assault. But the Risen General was still assailing their troops from the southern flank, of which he was the guardian. This risk was worth it, he determined. Not for his sake but for theirs.

He aimed his shot, using his forefinger as the contact point. “I am going to engage the enemy commander. I may need cover while I prepare the spell.” He called over his shoulder to Noire and Morgan. “Be advised, I am using magic that is less stable, so please mind your distance.”

“Understood!” Morgan called back. Noire simply nodded anxiously, which he only saw because he knew to look for it. They were predictable in their ways, his comrades. Their routines and many idiosyncrasies endeared them to him. Now that they were by his side and he was no longer alone, he did not fear taking such a risk for them.

He sucked in a deep breath and found his stillness. The spell required complete concentration. He did not hear the thud of a Risen soldier as Noire downed it with a steady arrow. The rushing wings of Cynthia and Gerome’s mounts overhead faded out, along with the grating metallic clatter of the battle around him. He thought of thunder travelling from his core, along his arm and out of his fingertip. For a moment, he felt its warm path along his veins. The warmth shifted to pure energy, lighting through his bones like bottled fire. And then it began to burn.

His eyes snapped open to see the spell misfire, only half of the lightning exiting his body. The rest lingered in his flesh. Unable to redirect, it seared his skin with long branching wounds. An intolerable pain cut across his arm but he was too stunned to cry out. The shock of the spell’s force thrust him backwards and knocked the air from his lungs. He was suddenly prone, the brightness of the sky obscuring his vision. He saw a looming shadow race towards him. Then all faded to black before he could form a thought. Before he could scream out for help.

* * *

He woke being carried. Hard metal dug into his side. Gerome’s armor, he realized from the curve of black along his arm.

“Ger-” He choked out the words, breaking off in a dry cough. His chest felt like it had been hollowed out. It was then that the pain returned. More accurately, it reminded him of its unbearable presence. His arm was on fire, alight with burnt and bloodied flesh. He would have screamed had the sensation not overwhelmed his mind. Instead, he gritted his teeth and tightened his hand around Gerome’s wrist.

“We’re almost at the barracks.” Gerome’s voice was softer than he expected. “Try not to talk.” An unknown variable lingered in his tone – Was he mistaken or was it truly comfort that lingered in his words?

Laurent gave him the slightest nod as it was all he could manage. He slowly turned his gaze to the side to assess the damage. His burnt arm hung limply, blood flowing from it in small rivulets. His cloak, gloves, and shirt sleeve had been burned away so he could clearly see the gashes in his flesh and the surrounding damage to his skin.

He winced, quickly turning his head back towards Gerome. Laurent was comforted that it was Gerome who had rescued him. He did not voice it often but the two shared a unique understanding that he lacked in his other friendships. He almost made the effort to speak again despite his companion’s request, until he noticed it.

From this angle, he could see just under the man’s mask. Something glimmered beneath those eyes trained ahead.

Laurent realized they were tears.

* * *

Relegated to the infirmary for several days, Laurent slept through most of it. It was about three days later that he woke in a groggy stupor. A patch of sunlight peeked through the medical tent flap. It widened suddenly in a bright flash as a person walked through the opening. As the blinding glare of light faded he saw that it was Brady going through his midday routine. Before he could speak, Brady noticed him first.

“Rise and shine, pal.” He smirked as he dropped the supplies he was carrying into their respective locations on the storage shelf. “How’re ya doin?”

“Ergh,” Laurent grumbled. He tried to sit up and flinched instead. His entire body ached, each muscle groaning in pain. “Alive, I suppose. How are—”

“Hold on there,” Brady turned toward him fully, his hands settling on his hips. “You’re not seriously checking in on everyone else right now, are you?”

Laurent blinked, puzzled. “I merely wanted to ascertain the, er—” He winced again as he tried to find a way to angle this head that didn’t result in a stab of pain in his neck. Realizing his condition, he faltered. “I suppose it may be too soon for that.”

“If you try to jump back into your little micromanaging rounds any time soon, I’ll drag you back to this tent myself.” Brady slid a stool over and took a seat beside him. “Now, let’s take a look at the damage, huh?”

Brady slowly undressed his arm, which bore the brunt of the magical damage. Laurent bit back a groan but couldn’t prevent the hiss of pain that escaped his lips as the bandages were pulled away. Because the spell had released energy from within his body, it bore extremely deep wounds. Jagged lines cut into flesh, tinged black and red. From a distance, the pattern of the wound resembled lightning, each line branching into another angled segment.

“Yeah, it’s not pretty.” Brady walked off, tossing the dirty bandages into a waste bin and returning with a new set of gauze. “Here, hold it steady.” He guided Laurent’s arm upwards, holding it between his hands gingerly. “I’m gonna cast Recover, alright?”

Laurent nodded, because moving his head was vastly preferable to stringing together a sentence. Pain arrested his mind entirely, leaving him on the verge of crying out.

As Brady’s hands glowed with a soft green light, Laurent could feel the sting of fresh wounds fade. He almost sighed in relief. It was certainly not a panacea but for pain management it would suffice.

“Better?” Brady pulled his hands away and began readying the gauze.

“Yes, very much so.” Laurent sighed. “It is nearly bearable now. Thank you.”

“Of course. Now let’s get ya bandaged back up. Gotta prevent infection, especially with magical injuries.” Brady wrapped his arm with gauze in a practiced motion, careful not to overextend the injury. In less than a minute the wrap was secured.

“I am grateful to have an ally as skilled as you in medical care.” Laurent said as he admired the precise wrap.

“Aw, don’t sweat it. Glad I can be useful every now and then.” Brady was blushing slightly so Laurent held back further praise. He knew his friend was easily flustered and took care to minimize embarrassing him.

“May I inquire as to the status of our comrades now?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Brady placed his hands on his knees and looked at him squarely. “Wanna know if your stupid decision screwed us all, huh?”

“When you phrase it like that I feel worse.” Laurent coughed into his hand, averting his gaze.

“Well, Gerome swept in and picked you up real quick. He must’ve been watchin’ your back or something.” Laurent nodded, recalling the shadow that glided towards him on the battlefield. Minerva was quick when she wanted to be, especially so when spurred on by Gerome’s intent. The sentiment that Gerome may have been keeping an eye on him was new information however. “And then Cynthia flew down to give Noire and Morgan cover. They were able to manage until Lucina and Kjelle caught up.”

“So it turned out alright?”

“For everyone except you, yeah.” Brady scratched his chin anxiously. “Was that too harsh of me to say?”

“No, I appreciate your enduring sincerity. Thank you once again. I am indebted to your care.” Laurent managed to keep his tone light despite the guilt that bloomed in his chest.

“I’m glad it didn’t turn out worse.” Brady stood up, heading over to the restock cabinet. As he rearranged piles of gauze, Laurent realized he was harboring more questions.

“You’re wondering why I took such a risk,” Laurent noticed how Brady stilled at his words. “Right?”

His friend sighed. “I’m just concerned, is all.” Brady was facing away from Laurent, his head directed at the storage cabinet. But from the way his shoulders tensed, Laurent knew that he was fully engaged in the conversation. “You could have died, you realize that? Why didn’t you wait for back up?”

“I felt that the gains outweighed the risks.” Laurent spoke truthfully. He had analyzed the situation in the moment and attempting an unprepared spell had seemed like it was his sole option.

“Well…try to learn from this okay? You don’t need to put yourself at risk for us all. Be more careful next time. We can’t stand one more loss, y’know. It would break some of their hearts.” Brady said this with a laugh, but Laurent understood his deeper meaning. His injury had impacted the morale of his comrades. He remembered Gerome’s tears as they rushed from the battlefield in the moments following. Guilt spiked in his heart. He wished he could kneel before each and every one of his companions and pour out a stream of apologies. But instead, he simply nodded.

“I understand. I will not do something so foolish again.”

“Glad to hear it.” Brady finally faced him again. Whatever emotions had crossed his face during their conversation had disappeared. Instead, he wore a carefully placed smile. Despite his rough tongue, Brady was adept in holding himself together. Each of the Shepherds of their generation had to be, he supposed.

His friend walked towards the door, hesitating for a moment. “Alright pal, well if you need anythin’ just holler. I’m gonna run to the mess tent to eat lunch. I’ll grab some soup for you when I’m done and bring it over this way.

“That would be much appreciated. Thank you.”

After the slap of the tent door the infirmary was silent. Laurent tried not to dwell on the shame he felt over his failure. He had not intended to make everyone’s battle harder with his own blunder. It was fortunate at least that his mistake did not cost him much more than this wound and, to some degree, his pride.

In the days following, Laurent would reflect again and again on that spell. He would learn of how long such a wound usually took to heal (ranging from several weeks to a couple of months, with constant care of course). He also entertained many visits from his worried companions. Robin and Chrom checked in on him of course, along with his parents.

It was the visits from his generation that he looked forward to most however. Noire brought with her stories from the battlefield, usually occasions when she had succeeded with her bow. Yarne snuck in to give him progress updates on his fleeting moments of courage. Cynthia told him stories of several different heroes with their bodies scarred from battle. Owain, who often accompanied her, would go on to brainstorm righteous names for his scar, all of which Laurent denied. Kjelle would visit occasionally after her rounds of training, her brow still slick with sweat from battle. He envied her a little on those days. He longed to leave his infirmary bed, to participate in training and furthering their cause. But he bit his tongue whenever such thoughts crossed his mind. He was here by his own hand after all.

Lucina, though being the busiest amongst them all, visited the most often (aside from Brady’s daily care of course). She made a point of updating him on all of their recent engagements with the Risen, as well as their plans for the next leg of their campaign. While he missed the inventory updates and clerical work he once did, it was still nice to hear of the big picture from her. Morgan would sometimes tag along with Lucina, always trying to crack a joke to make Laurent smile. It was a hard won fight but Morgan managed to achieve it each time. Nah was an infrequent visitor but she brought with her tales from the social happenings around the barracks along with snacks. Inigo was one of the more consistent visitors, always ready to share his next mishap with the ladies from nearby towns to make Laurent chuckle. Even Severa managed to stop by a handful of times, first to chastise and then to admit her concern. Of all the second generation, Gerome avoided visiting entirely. It was surprising to him that by the end of several weeks of bed rest, the only one of his allies to have skipped a visit was the one he most longed to speak with.

When he was approved to leave the infirmary with instructions on continuing care, Laurent was unsure what to do. He lazed in his cot most days. He was still banned from the battlefield and all combat training. In his first few days of healing, he had poured over his spellcasting notes. After so much study, however, he reached a point that required practical application. He could not even attempt a prepared spell in this state. It would take at least two more weeks for his flesh to heal enough for that sort of activity.

In place of combat training, he would normally resume his routine clerical duties. However, the accident left him self-conscious of the burden he caused others. He feared that they found his never-ending questions tedious. It would take a bit longer to regain his confidence, he realized. Until then, he lingered in his quarters, only leaving for meals and the occasional strategy meeting.

It was on one of his trips to the mess hall that he noticed a small package by the opening of his quarters. He picked it up gingerly, noticing its lightness. Thin brown paper, carefully tied together in the middle with twine. Perplexed, Laurent turned back into his tent and opened it at his desk. Inside, he found a bundle of herbs. A small white card dropped from the wrapping. On the card, “Brew this mix for tea. Helps with pain.” was scrawled in messy handwriting. For a moment, he was unsure of its origin. The familiar handwriting bothered him, however, and he felt compelled to investigate.

He returned the card to the table and began searching his paperwork. Among his various documents related to clerical work, he kept records that often passed hands between individuals. He found the same handwriting scrawled a few pages down, on an inventory report. He had sent it to Gerome for review before they sent the supply request. His words, “We need more arrows for our ranged troops. See me for further explanation.” were scratched in ink along the upper right corner. There was no mistaking it. The curved dip of his “m,” and the dashed dot of his “i” were nearly identical.

Something creaked in Laurent’s chest. Gerome had been avoiding him since the accident. He hadn’t seen the man since that moment right after regaining consciousness, when he was desperately flying him back to camp. It didn’t make sense for him to go out of his way to alleviate his pain when Laurent had caused him so much unnecessary hurt.

He pushed from the tent, his hunger forgotten in lieu of a panicked guilt. He was so preoccupied, he nearly ran into Inigo.

“Hey, going somewhere special?” Inigo asked breezily.

“Have you seen Gerome?” Laurent couldn’t help that his voice sounded strangled. He hoped Inigo would have the tact to ignore it.

“Oh, he left with some troops to suppress a horde of Risen.” Inigo frowned. “Are you alright? You seem—”

“Yes, I’m fine. Nothing to concern yourself over, I assure you.” Laurent hastily changed the subject. “Have you eaten yet?”

* * *

When the troops returned that evening, Laurent did not see Gerome. Apparently he had taken a scenic route home, citing Minerva’s need to stretch her wings as his cause. He was a strong enough soldier that no one denied his request. Laurent felt like a fool to stay up waiting for him. Instead, he busied himself with making that tea.

He managed to boil the water without issue. Steeping tea was not one of his strong suits (he was never good at judging when was too long in the water and often burned his leaves). This time, though, he made sure to remove the leaves after an appropriate amount of time had passed.

The tea released a pungent aroma which was not exactly inviting. Nonetheless, after it was done steeping Laurent tested its flavor. Despite the unfamiliar odor, it was pleasant. The flavor was strong, beginning with a bold note that folded into a twist of citrus. As he finished the cup of heady liquid, he felt his exhaustion melt away. The uncomfortable ache from his arm that he had been learning to ignore faded away almost entirely.

“Amazing.” Laurent muttered to himself, examining the small bag of tea in wonder.

The problem came hours later, when Laurent found himself unable to fall asleep.

“I wonder,” he said aloud, stretched out on his bed as he had been trying and failing to sleep for hours now. “Perhaps that tea contained caffeine.”

Regardless of the exact element, something in that tea was keeping him awake. He sat up, sighing in frustration. Perhaps a late night walk would burn off some of the energy. He stood from his bed and changed out of his night clothes and into proper attire. Before sliding on his shirt, he changed the bandages on his arm.

After his discharge, Brady had instructed him on how to change the bandages himself. Now that the wound was mostly scabbed over, there was less need to change them as often as before. However, Laurent wanted to see the progress in this moment. The black lines which had cut red into his arm had dulled into a tinge of gray. The gashes of red had scabbed over, now a deep maroon. He knew that meant it was healing. Yet, it still scared him how unfamiliar his body could become. At a flex of his fingers, he realized he could move most digits without pain. Of course, bending his elbow and shoulder was still wrought with ache. But this was progress nonetheless, and he celebrated it privately.

After replacing the bandages, he donned his evening cloak and left his quarters. Laurent was content to find the night sky clear. The moon was hidden, but the stars dotted the sky in several constellations. In this version of reality, one could look up and see the stars. In the world they grew up in, Grima’s influence had coated the sky with a perpetual roil of clouds. He was surprised to learn of stars when he arrived in the past. It was during his years of solitude that he committed to learning a constellation every now and then. Simply a supplemental addition to his educational regimen he told himself. But each line across the sky he learned of felt like a small fragment of the future he yearned to claim. Looking at the sky now, he recognized the top corner of the Dragon Girl from Marth’s legend. He decided to find higher ground to get a better look.

He took a winding path up a nearby hill overlooking camp. Had it not been for the thick forest cover, he might have noticed the passing shadow overhead. Perhaps if his steps in the undergrowth had not snagged with twigs underfoot, he would have heard the rush of air. But instead, he strode out towards the clearing at the top of the hill without looking that far ahead. When he saw the great wingspan of Minerva, flying hundreds of feet above, he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was then that he noticed the figure seated a few yards ahead of him.

The face turned, and he would have laughed had it been appropriate.

“Gerome.” He tried to keep his tone calm.

His comrade was seated, leaning back on his arm in a relaxed position. His mask was laying on the ground. When he looked at Laurent, he did so with his face uncovered. Gerome’s unfiltered expression was not the anger that Laurent had been anticipating. It was a look of unbothered surprise. The man had not stiffened or grown hostile at his presence. And yet, Laurent still stumbled in discomfort.

“My apologies.” He said briskly. “I had not intended to interrupt your – um,”

Gerome shifted his weight on his arm, turning towards him. He gave Laurent time to form his words.

“I was merely looking for a better, um, view of the sky.” He gestured upwards. “But I don’t want to intrude so I will be taking my—”

“You don’t have to.” Gerome finally spoke. “It would be a waste of your energy to find the next best hill.”

The unspoken _and you shouldn’t over-exert yourself_ was not missed on Laurent.

“Are you certain I would not be a bother?” Laurent could not help but ask. The guilt in his heart had grown more intense over time. Looking at Gerome, he could not forget how afraid he was in the moment. How softly he had spoken, how much he had cried. He needed to be sure.

“If you linger much longer, it would be more of a bother.” Gerome grunted, turning his face skyward once more. “Don’t dally.”

“Of course.” Laurent bowed his head slightly as he stepped towards him. He carefully lowered himself on the ground beside Gerome.

Laurent felt the need to fill the silence. He had imagined his reunion with Gerome several times in his head, and none of them felt like this. His heart slammed against his chest and his thoughts raced. That tea had to have contained caffeine, now he was certain of it. He grasped for the correct words to say but each option seemed ill-fitting.

Eventually, it was Gerome who spoke first. He smiled as Minerva flew overhead. Her shadow passed over the pair like a swift-moving cloud.

“She wanted to fly some more.” He explained simply.

“I thought you flew the long route home already?”

Gerome stiffened and Laurent realized that he had spoken with too much certainty.

“She has been feeling restless lately. Flying the extra distance to camp helped, but she needed some more time.” Gerome frowned in confusion. “Did you ask for me?”

“I sought you out today, yes.” Laurent decided truth was the best course of action. “I wanted to thank you for the tea.”

Gerome angled his face away. Even in the low light, Laurent could see the color rise to his face. Why would he blush over such a basic admission?

“I am glad you found it suitable.” The softness that had been present in his voice weeks ago reappeared. Laurent creased his brow, unsure how to interpret this kindness. “Did you try it this morning then?”

“Ah, actually I drank it before bed.”

A beat of silence, then laughter. Gerome, who Laurent had heard laugh on three, maybe four occasions prior to this, was snickering. It was a fleeting laugh and still it made Laurent’s heart flutter in elation.

“You fool, you only drink a tea like that in the early hours of the morning!” Gerome’s chuckle died down but a smile remained on his face. “Don’t tell me, are you walking around at night because you can’t sleep?”

Laurent’s sheepish laugh followed by a nod was answer enough.

“I should have included more detailed instructions I see.” Gerome shook his head lightly. “That tea has twice the amount of caffeine as most coffee.”

“Yes well, my misuse of it aside, I would like to thank you. It worked wonders on the pain.” Laurent presented his arm and moved his digits slowly. “I can flex my fingers without concern, see?”

Gerome’s light smile dipped into a frown. “I apologize I could not deliver it to you sooner. It took some time to gather the correct herbs.”

“You gathered it yourself?”

“Yes. It took a few weeks though.”

“Wait, did you –” Laurent struggled for a moment. “Did you leave camp for that whole period of time?”

“Of course not.” Gerome leaned towards him, his brow tightened. “I have duties here. I merely used my time in between combat. And perhaps skipped a few training sessions…But that’s neither here nor there.”

“But why?” Laurent asked, puzzled.

“Before my mother died, she and I would fly on Minerva from time to time. She felt it was important that I grow familiar with riding a Wyvern at a young age. But I was often nervous and fell off more times than a few.” As he spoke, he traced a hand along his arm as if feeling the phantom pain. “She would brew this tea for me the following morning to help dull the soreness. Its recipe is one of the few things I have from my true parents. And when you were incapacitated…I did not know what else to do.”

“Gerome…” He pushed past the waver in his voice. “I want to sincerely apologize to you most of all. I placed quite the burden upon your shoulders as both my rescuer and witness to my foolhardy display. I understand you must be angry with me—”

“Angry?” He snorted. “Laurent, I was beside myself with worry. I was consumed with fear. But furthest from my mind was anger.” Gerome was fully turned toward him now. Laurent almost flinched from the honesty in his gaze. “I didn’t know how to handle it if you died so I concerned myself with something tangible. Still to your benefit because there was nothing else on my mind.”

“Even so, I am unsure as to why you would go to such lengths for me.” Laurent let the confusion flood into his voice.

Gerome’s expression flickered for the barest moment with uncertainty. And then, after gathering his resolve, he neared. “Perhaps I should explain in more detail.” He was closer than Laurent realized, his hand just barely hovering over Laurent’s own. However, Laurent couldn’t look away from his gaze, which simmered with a piercing heat. There was no mistaking the blush on Gerome’s cheeks but instead of sheepish, his friend was confident. He was so focused on matching Gerome’s intensity, he almost did not hear the following words. “After your accident, I was beside myself with emotion. Over the months that we have been together, I realized that I have come to rely on you far more than any other. And…” He lingered for only a moment. “You are my friend, but my care for you far surpasses friendship. I love you, Laurent, most dearly.”

At the moment Gerome said love, Laurent’s hearing faded out. In his mind he recalled the many meetings he had spent alone with Gerome, wondering if it would be inappropriate to lean over and kiss him. He had convinced himself months ago that Gerome had no hidden feelings, that they were merely colleagues and friends and nothing further. He had suppressed each rush of excitement, each chill at Gerome’s touch, each flush of warmth when he remembered something he loved about him (of which there were many). Hearing these words, he felt his mind go blank and his heart swell with shock and elation in equal measure. Upon his lips, all intelligible responses died.

“Ah,” Laurent found himself replying stupidly.

“Does this upset you?” Gerome began to retract his hand and Laurent began to panic.

“N-no, I just –” Laurent readjusted his glasses hastily. “I need a moment, my apologies.” He placed a hand to his chest and felt his heartbeat pounding. Gerome waited patiently, though the tension in his shoulders hinted at his nerves. Laurent took a deep breath before trying to reply once more.

“Upon hearing your confession, I am surprised because I had assumed you had no romantic inclinations towards me for some time,” Laurent said. “I had been looking for signs because, since we reunited in this time, I have held feelings of affection for you. Of the romantic sort. For quite some time, actually.” He laughed awkwardly. “It seems that my admittance of self-defeat has—”

“Wait.” Gerome was now the one replying stupidly. “Doe this mean—?”

“That the feelings are mutual? I believe so.” Laurent was somehow calm saying this, despite how intensely engaged he was in the moment. He realized that Gerome was so close, that this was the closest they had faced one another ever. And that in this context, many things which he had yearned for prior would be more than appropriate. “May I kiss you?”

Gerome nodded as he leaned in and closed the gap between them. It was a soft kiss, filled with warmth and a sense of impatience. Laurent leaned into Gerome, pressing against the solid comfort that was his body. He felt Gerome’s hand slide behind his head and lightly grasp his hair, sending chills down his spine. And then Gerome deepened the kiss and Laurent felt lightheaded from the rush of ardor that followed.

No one had ever kissed Laurent with such tenderness. He was swept in the ecstasy of Gerome’s embrace. His prior speculations over this moment were meek imitations of its true depth. What he imagined might be pleasurable was intoxicating. Where he had hoped for softness, he received delicacy he had thought possible only in dreams. And perhaps most surprising of all, he never tired of Gerome’s touch. When Gerome’s hand traced the edge of his jaw, it left in its wake a bloom of sensation. It simultaneously put him on edge and drew him in. Gerome’s presence grounded him in the moment, brought him the incessant reminder that _yes_ this was happening, _yes_ he and Gerome were finally united in the love he had long yearned for.

When they eventually parted, Laurent had to remind himself to breathe. Gerome pulled away and looked at Laurent as if the world fell away around them. And for Laurent, it had. In that moment, Gerome was the center of his world, and all other thoughts faded.

Finally, Gerome spoke.

“That was fantastic.” He wore a smile so vulnerable, Laurent knew it was reserved only for moments as delicate as these.

“And that, lovely as it was, was just our first kiss.” Laurent thought for a moment. “It’s okay if we continue to do more of that, correct?”

“Yes, of course.” Gerome traced his fingers along the back of Laurent’s neck. “As long as you will have me.”

“That’s certainly not a problem.” He smiled. “I love you.” Laurent pressed his lips gently to the back of Gerome’s hand like it was a promise. And this time when tears rose to Gerome’s eyes, he knew they were born from happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy. I love Gerome and Laurent so much, especially because I headcanon them to both be deeply emotional people (despite how stoic they try to act). Also I genuinely think Gerome is a soft-hearted person who cries easily. He started wearing a mask because he couldn’t suppress his emotions as well as the others, and he felt that he needed to toughen up in the hopeless war they were fighting in the future. Anyways! I know I just wrote a hurt/comfort fic about a similar scenario, but I really wanted to try out a thoron rebound fic (and it’s different enough ok!)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading <3


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